


All You Know About Me Is My Name

by constitutinlcon



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff and Angst, M/M, alex is 17, alexander flirts with teachers to get what he wants like a shitbag, alexander is a salty little boy who cheated on his girlfriend, alexander is just super sad honestly, alexander is very jealous, also underage drinking, and sad, because i project, maybe smut??, mentions of past infidelity, thomas is a new student, thomas tries to flirt with everyone like a shitbag, tjeffs is 18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-07-18
Packaged: 2018-11-08 23:44:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11092395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constitutinlcon/pseuds/constitutinlcon
Summary: Alexander Hamilton.It was scribbled on the board in some sort of pseudo-cursive writing. It was bold, the letters curving and caving in on themselves like crashing waves. It definitely stood out from the rest of the names on the whiteboard, which Thomas only could hear in his mind as monotone. But Alexander Hamilton, that had quite a ring to it - Like the name of somebody important, somebody eloquent, somebody fierce, somebody that embodied intellectual superiority.Thomas Jefferson.The name was so befitting to such a pompous twit, Alexander thought to himself.





	1. Chapter 1

_Alexander Hamilton._

It was scribbled on the board in some sort of pseudo-cursive writing. It was bold, the letters curving and caving in on themselves like crashing waves. It definitely stood out from the rest of the names on the whiteboard, which Thomas only could hear in his mind as monotone. But Alexander Hamilton, that had quite a ring to it - Like the name of somebody important, somebody eloquent, somebody fierce, somebody that embodied intellectual superiority. He mentally cursed himself for being slightly late to the first class of the day, not being able to see who this Alexander was. He picked up the worn out, white chalk that was resting underneath the dark board and saw ample space under the elegant name that he had praised so. The light squeak erupted as the last name was written on the board in careful practiced writing.

_Thomas Jefferson._

The name was so befitting to such a pompous twit, Alexander thought to himself. He only could hope that he didn't audibly groan when he saw the taller figure before him waltz into the classroom like he owned the fucking place, though he didn't know what else he expected from the talk of an aristocratic Virginian making his way to a high school in Brooklyn, New York. Hamilton snickered to himself when he realized that the New York attitude was going to eat the prim, proper asshole alive. If this Thomas Jefferson even thought for a second that he would make it out here he was entirely wrong. In a boarding school, no less. He fucks up once, there's no escaping the teenage drama since you have to live with the people, and Alexander suspects that he's going to fuck up. A lot. People who radiate self-entitlement don't go too well with New Yorkers, or Californians, but that's a different story.

The class had settled down, and so had Thomas Jefferson, unbeknowing (and unfortunately) sitting himself next to Alexander Hamilton. Thomas looked into the large clock on the wall that sat right above the blackboard, reading the time as 8:53 AM. He supposed that the introductions and all started at 9, since they hadn't happened yet and it was an awkward time to start at 8:53. Thomas thought that maybe he could talk to somebody he didn't know, maybe make a couple of allies, if you would. He looked to his left, only to be greeted by a soft, kind looking girl with flowing black hair wearing a sky-blue dress that fell to about her knees. She had striking facial structure, but also at the same time somehow soft features. He would've loves to start a conversation with such a beautiful girl, but she was already talking to somebody behind her, and he wasn't one to interrupt other's conversations. At least, not the conversations of a beautiful girl. He decided maybe the person on his right was a better option. To say the least, it was a much less pleasant sight than the one he could still see in his peripheral vision to his left. A frail-looking boy with untamed and slightly curly hair that fell to right about his shoulders. He wore a forest-green over sized hoodie that read King's College across the chest in bold letters, accompanied by what Thomas could only assume were coffee stains. He had dark bags under his eyes, a small mole under his left, and he looked like he hadn't shaved in a while. Whoever this was, Thomas thought, he definitely wasn't very inviting and didn't quite radiate the hospitality that the girl to his left did.

Just as Jefferson began to turn back, he met the piercing gaze of someone who looked like they hadn't slept in days, and he realized that he had been caught staring. He wanted to introduce himself, but he found himself frozen in place. What was he supposed to do? He was getting a death glare from who could possibly be the scariest and most intimidating person on the planet, and he didn't know anybody in the entire school other than James Madison because of loose family ties who wasn't even there because he had caught influenza. Just as Thomas had felt the courage rise in his chest, the voice of somebody who clearly had their blood boiling broke the tracks on his train of thought.

"What," The boy finally spoke, voice hoarse from what seems to be a lot of yelling, the tension now palpable, "Is there something on my face?" It came out more self-concious than Alexander had originally hoped for, and he cursed himself for it.

Then came Jefferson's unsure voice, confident tone masking his anxiety, "Nothing, sweetheart."

Alexander could swear his heart possibly skipped a beat, but he's going to blame that on the possibility of heart palpitations from all the coffee he had consumed in the past 12 hours. Just as he opened his mouth, ready to reply with a snarky yet witty response that would shut Jefferson up, a broad man barged his way into the room. The General was what people liked to call him - he was notorious for failing seniors and not letting them walk at their graduation ceremonies - and he was the only professor that everyone had mutual respect and terror for. Hamilton turned his full attention to the front, feeling the smirk grow upon his own face. He knew that George Washington really likes him, and he knew that he really liked George Washington. The bulky, tall man made his way to the desk at the front center of the room, setting all of his things down on the table in front of him. Coffee in hand, stacks of papers in the other, Mr.Washington had full attention of the students as the room fell quiet. His pupils watched as he scanned the terrain of the classroom, looking for familiar faces or entirely new ones. It was when he looked at the back right corner of the room that his face lit up with contentment.

"Hamilton." He boasted, almost brimming with paternal pride. He had always loved Alexander Hamilton, always at the top of his class and trying to get better. After all the kid had been through, he couldn't blame him for his non-stop attitude. Washington had always felt that he and Alexander shared a close bond that not many teachers share with their pupils, but Alexander always seemed to charm his way into the heart of many. George Washington was no exception. "Great to see you here in my class again."

Alexander hummed with the pleasure that swelled in his chest at the praise when he responded in his sing-song voice, contrasting to his previous mood and appearance, "The pleasure's all mine, sir."

A few groans were audible throughout the room, and it was clear as day that everybody was done with Hamilton's brown-nosing. As everybody struggled to work on their essays day and night just to get a measly passing grade in George Washington's classes, Alexander passed and aced the class with flying colors, not even breaking a single sweat. Some said it was because Washington adopted Hamilton, some said it was because Washington was fucking Hamilton. Some sadistically said it was both. In reality, they all just assumed deep down all of his teachers pitied him enough to let him get good grades doing whatever he does, but nobody could deny Alexander was a motivated and driven individual.

Thomas then realized, after Washington's prideful swooning over Hamilton's presence, that the kid with the striking hand writing that exerted intellegence and elegance was the slumped over, tired kid beside him. He couldn't lie, it was quite possibly one of the greatest dissapointments of his life, and it was only 8:55 in the morning. He looked back over to the newly revealed Hamilton to his left, only to be met with a now much happier, more proper Alexander to his side. He scoffed, looking back to the front to look at the professor. He had heard some questionable things about Washington from his close family friend, James Madison, and Thomas couldn't help but be weary of how this class would turn out. Hopefully Washington found him charming enough that he would maybe take pity on him and give him a good grade. Not that Jefferson was foreign to the prospect of working for what he wants, he was just unfamiliar. He was used to getting by with the labor of other's and his striking southern charm, as his mother called it.

"Though I see familiar faces," Professor Washington began again after a short silence of scanning the room some more, "I won't be playing favorites. You have to work for what you want, kids,"

He said that every year, thought all of the students in the room simultaniously. He always said that, and then he treats Alexander like his son. It's honestly sickening to those who try hard but still don't get what they want.

"It's important to try your hardest, and," He spoke once more, but his voice trailed off as he noticed a student on their phone. A familiar one, so they certainly know that one of Washington's biggest problems is phones in his lessons. Alexander found it kinda humorous, seeing the assorted faces of the room contort in fear and cringe. Everyone just waited and waited, the silence being filled with the sound of someone tapping on the keys on their phone. "Miss Margaret Schuyler." Erupted George's voice, roaring like thunder.

A small girl, definitely looking too young to be in that class, with her high curly ponytail looked up, "It's Peggy."

Thomas didn't even know George Washington all that wall and he didn't need to at all to know that that was probably something she shouldn't have said. And he almost found it funny, until he saw Washington grab the phone right out of her hands with the force of a thousand suns.

"You can meet me outside after class is over, _Peggy_."

Thomas would be definitely lying if he said he wasn't terrified of his first professor. He would've loved to make a positive impression, but Washington had his attention else ware, putting everyone doing anything remotely disrespectful in their place. It was when Jefferson's imagination drifted about his room, about his roommate, about how much fun it all could be, that Washington handed out the papers with schedules and room numbers. He looked down to see all of his teachers, and he swore under his breath when he saw that he not only had Washington as his homeroom teacher, but also his debate and U.S history teacher. Fuck. He let his eyes trail down to his room number and dorm - The Eagle dorm, room 89.

Alexander heard people around chatting to find if any of their roommates were around them. Knowing Washington, he probably let Alexander have his own room. It was a really rare occurrence that they usually only give to students that don't socialize well. He scanned the paper, noting that he was back in debate for his senior year. Alexander looked at the bottom paper in front of him and read it in bold letters - The Eagle dorm, room 89. The only rooms in the Eagle dorm are for two or three people. Alexander knew that there were no single rooms in that dorm. _God fucking dammit, Washington_. At least Washington probably had the decency to pair him with somebody he could get along with, so he decided to stand up and scour the terrain. He made his way across the room, sights set on his close friend John Laurens. He prayed desperately hoped they shared a dorm room, he didn't want to be stuck with someone he didn't know, or even worse, hated for his senior year.

"Alexander!" Came the cheery voice of John Laurens, exitable as ever, "What room are you in?"

"Eagle dorm, 89."

Alexander saw as Laurens' face lit up at his room number, and he intensely prayed that it was because he shared a room with John.

"Eagle dorm, 88," John began once more, "We're neighbors this year!"

"Fuck, seriously John?" Alexander croaked out, groaning at the prospect of having to spend his last year with some unknown asshat, "That fucking blows."

"Sucks to suck buddy."

Looking back over the terrain of the classroom, Hamilton tried to see if he could find any more familiar faces, but it looked like he had lucked out. Usually homeroom was with people in your dorm, so the likeliness of Lafayette or Hercules, who weren't in their class, being in his room was entirely improbable. He sighed, examining his prospects internally as he made his way to the other end of the room where he was previously sitting. He could maybe just spend a lot of time over at Laurens', since they were at least neighbors this year. Maybe he could make friends with whoever was his roommate, but that was highly unlikely considering not that many people like him. He was surprised that even John, who is quite possibly the kindest soul in the world, put up with him for more than six weeks. Alexander sat there, picking at the desk as he softly grieved, with already predisposed sorrow about his situation.

As Alexander made his way to the Eagle dorm several mood swings later, moping as he sluggishly dragged his feet to his new room. He was walking with Laurens to the dorm they now shared, and all of John's conversation was just background noise to Alexander. He was too focused on rehearsing lines in his head. They made their way to the the third floor, where the rooms 60-89 were, and they made a sharp left from the elevator, following the signs that pointed to rooms 80-89. Hamilton bid his friend farewell, and unlocked his door with his teacher-administrated key. To his surprise, the door was actually unlocked. He heard shuffling inside the room, and realized his roommate was already there. Alexander let out a deep, shaky breath as he realized how nervous he actually was. Though he had accepted that people commonly didn't like how abrasive he was, he still had the undeniable need to be liked. His lightly trembling hand reached for the door handle as he gingerly turned it and pushed the door open. As he was presented with the sight before him, he let out a sigh of relief as to who it was, making their bed and folding their clothes.

"Laf!" Alexander exclaimed, seeing the familiar back of his close friend, "God, you don't know how relieved I am that you're my roommate."

Who Alexander had assumed to be Lafayette whipped around, and he was frozen in his place when the realization that it wasn't Lafayette struck him down like lightning. Though the person before him had a striking resemblence to his French friend, it definitely wasn't him, because Lafayette carries himself in a certain way that is approachable, while whoever this imposter asshole was radiated entitlement.

"My bad," Alexander spat, making his way to his own bed and setting his stuff down on it, "Thought I got lucky this year,"

Thomas cringed at the smaller's agression, thinking that maybe he was the one who didn't get so lucky this year.

"But I guess not."

 _What a fucking asshole,_ Thomas thought. He watched as this Alexander Hamilton kid unpacked his clothing. _A lot of green, and a lot of clothes that looked to big_ , Thomas noted. He was a small kid, so it wasn't surprising that he bore mostly baggy clothing. His sweatshirts looked like they could fit Jefferson. Even the one he was wearing currently fell to his mid thigh, and he had the sleeves rolled up a ton and they still covered his hands ever so slightly. He almost looked like a doll to Thomas. Smooth skin, big eyes, soft-looking hair, all of it.

"You know," Thomas began, going back to folding his clothes, "You're very intense for someone so small."

"And you're moronic for someone so tall. You would think a bigger brain would fit in that giant head," Alexander remarked, slamming his coffee machine onto the desk on his side of the room. He could feel Thomas look at it with a distasteful grin.

"You're not going to wake me up at the asscrack of dawn brewing that poor people shit, are you?"

Alexander glared at him and grimaced, trying to come up with a better remark.

"Eat my ass, you shitbag."

"I really hope I might be able to, _baby doll_."

Hamilton turned around quickly to face back to his clothes that he was busy unpacking to hide his now flushed face.

This was going to end horribly.


	2. Coffee and F. Scott Fitzgerald

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander is a mess, Thomas wants a piece of that, and angst (and coffee) brew.

There were a couple of hours of silence, broken by the occasional quips and insults exchanged between the two roommates. They tried to get unpacked as soon as possible so that they could just do their own things and ignore each other, but it was kind of hard to hurry and get situated when Jefferson was checking Hamilton out, and wasn't even ashamed enough to try and hide it. Alexander Hamilton was a man of many words. If he thought something, he would say it, and if he wanted something, he would go for it full force. However, he didn't want to grace Thomas Jefferson's sorry ass with anything that he had to offer, even if it was just a snide remark to tell him to keep his eyes to himself. As Alexander was beginning to put away the last of his over-sized clothing, he caught Thomas in his peripheral vision endlessly swirling around on his swiveling chair. He groaned to himself as he shut the dresser drawer with vigor, getting off of his knees and returning to his last box of personal items. Hamilton smiled when he opened his last box, basking in the beauty of all of his books and writings. He picked the one that was on the very top, one of Alexander's favorites - _The Great Gatsby_. He ran his thumb over the dusty cover, admiring the written word. It seemed like in this technological age, nobody had the same respect for physical books like they once did, but that didn't matter to Alexander. He had books, and plenty of them, all marked with sticky-notes of his own thoughts and comments on the books.

 

Jefferson put his feet on the floor to stop his chair's spinning and looked over to his roommate for what felt like the thirtieth time in the past ten minutes, but something was different. Alexander was smiling. It was a very genuine, prideful smile, too. Thomas couldn't help but be surprised; Though his roommate was abrasive, hasty, and not to mention immature and hot-headed, he looked like he had a soft side accompanying all of that. He followed Hamilton's every move with his eyes, watching as he would pick up every book from the box like it were a sacred treasure, fawning over it's beauty for a few seconds and then setting it back down on his bed with all of his other books. As the pile on Alexander's bed became larger and larger, Thomas realized those books were probably going to end up everywhere. Alexander definitely didn't strike him as the meticulous clean type at all.

 

"Where do you plan on keeping all of those?" Jefferson remarked from across the room, clearly referencing the growing piles of books on the smaller's bed.

 

Hamilton whipped his head up at the sound of the voice, slightly disoriented from being yanked from his fantasizing back to the real world. "Huh?" He muttered, not completely having heard the other across the room.

 

"I said, where are you going to keep all of those books?" Thomas said once again, slight agitation in his voice from having to repeat himself.

 

And Alexander shrugged.

 

"You don't know where you're going to put all of that mess?"

 

"The words of F.Scott Fitzgerald are _not_ a mess," Hamilton quipped back, venom dripping his voice at the audacity that Jefferson had to call these works of art anything less than majesty.

 

Thomas tried to choke back a chuckle from Hamilton's paternal protectiveness, "They are a mess, but more importantly, so are you," He observed, standing up from his swivel chair and walking over to Alexander's side of the room. "I am not living in your clutter."

 

Alexander, beginning to get heated, decided it was better for the rest of his year to stay calm in this situation and be friendly. Well, as friendly as Alexander Hamilton gets. "It's , I'll keep them under my desk," _You can kindly fuck off now_ , Alexander added in his head. 

 

Thomas scoffed, returning back to his side of the room and sitting in his swirling chair, "Fine, you do you."

 

The quietness of the room settled in Alexander's stomach uncomfortably as he finished delicately stacking his books into an immaculate order and stuffing them under his desk, leaving himself ample leg room despite how many books he had. The brevity of his conversations with Jefferson were almost tiring, so he had given up on communication a long time ago. He looked at his small clock that rested on his bedside table, to be met with the realization that it was already 8 o'clock at night. He hadn't taken that long to unpack, right? As his roommate came back with a bag of which he had recognized quickly to be Five Guys, Alexander felt his stomach rumble with the realization that he hadn't eaten all day. When he was unpacking books, he would read a few chapters of some of his favorites, and that must've been what really made the time pass quickly. It all made sense as to why Jefferson was in and out of their room, presumably to get food or just do anything other than watch Alexander cry over _Moby-Dick._

 

"Hey," Came Jefferson's obligatory greeting, setting his food down onto his own desk as he heard the starting noise of a coffee machine.

 

"Hi." Alexander muttered, sifting through his ground coffee and tossing it into his coffee machine hastily. He tapped his fingers on the desk, waiting for his coffee to brew as he checked his phone. Twitter notifications, text messages from his friends, the whole works. He mindlessly scrolled through Twitter and Instagram, only to be interrupted by Jefferson's theatrical yawn. Alexander glared over at his taller roommate, shooting him a dirty look for interrupting his peace. Thomas shot back a look that Alexander could only interpret as a sarcastic _oh, I'm sorry princess._ He was ready to start an argument right then and there, but he heard the tell-tale beep of his coffee finishing it's brewing and opted for that instead. He whipped out his forest-green mug that read "Non-Stop" on it in what Thomas thought to be tacky white letters. Alexander removed the pot from the machine, tipping it into his cup as the soothing aroma of coffee filled the small dorm room. He sat back down into his wooden chair, and began to leisurely sip at his coffee.

 

"Why are you drinking coffee at 8 o'clock at night?" Thomas sneered, "Do you sleep?"

 

Hamilton looked at him through the corner of his eye and spoke between swigs of coffee, "Occasionally."

 

"Gross, you're one of those people?" The other remarked with playful distaste in his mouth.

 

"One of  _who_?" Hamilton questioned, the strange innocence in the remark settling in the air.

 

"You know, those over-achievers who think  _hey, sleep is for the weak_ ,"

 

"Gross, you're one of those people." Hamilton mocked, the bitter coffee singeing his tongue in just the right way.

 

"What?"  
  
  


"You know, those aristocratic assholes who think  _hey, I'm so much better than everybody else because I have money,"_ Putting emphasis on the word money and harshly slamming his mug down, Thomas could tell that he clearly struck some kind of nerve with Alexander. He decided that maybe it wasn't in his or Hamilton's best interest to pursue that conversation any further, so he just returned to childishly tossing fries shallowly into the air and catching them into his mouth. 

 

The silence was  _unbearable._ Thomas internally and eternally wished that he hadn't been stuck with such a.....Hamilton roommate. Boring wasn't the word, but excitable wasn't either. All he could find were brief conversations and off-the-handle comments, but nothing with deeper meaning. Even if he hated the guy, he would rather know him than never have anything better to chat about. Jefferson reasoned with himself that if he had to live with the kid all year, he might as well know a little more about him. What could possibly go wrong.

 

"So what's your life story, Hamilton?" Jefferson looked over, sipping on his drink that he had gotten with his now finished meal.

 

"What?" Was the only response he got as Alexander poured yet another cup of coffee into that tacky mug that Thomas already knew he hated.

 

"Like, tell me about yourself," The Virginian continued with genuine inquiry, "If we have to live together for a year, we might as well get to know each other,"

 

"I'm not divulging my tragic backstory to  _Thomas Jefferson_ ," Hamilton spoke through a grin, "You have to be at least a level seven friend to unlock that,"

 

Thomas chuckled at the comment, finding it one of the first witty things that Alexander has said all day, "I mean, I'm not asking you to tell me all of your deepest sorrows, just a little," Thomas shrugged, looking down and sipping on his cola, "Brief synopsis,"

 

"God, fine, but only if it shuts your stupid mouth," The clang of a porcelain mug hitting a table rang through the room as Alexander cleared his throat, "I was born in this little place called Nevis. It's in the Caribbean, if you didn't know."

 

"I knew that, but thanks for holding me to such a high standard that you would assume the negative."

 

"Did you really?"

 

"No."

 

Jefferson could've sworn he heard a laugh rise from Hamilton, a sweet one too, but before he could analyze it further Hamilton was talking again.

 

"So yeah, I was born there. My birthday's January eleventh, and I moved here to New York when I was fourteen. I don't have any siblings last time I checked. There's my life story."

 

"What, no parents or anything?" Thomas responded in a joking tone, assuming he and Hamilton might have been on the level of joking around with each other.

 

He was terribly mistaken.

 

Jefferson could've sworn he saw Hamilton look away like a child trying to hide that they were crying, seeing his roommate's face flush as he sniffled and stifled what seemed to be a little tear.   
  


"Not really."

 

Fuck.

 

_Fuck._

 

Thomas didn't need Hamilton to tell him that he just fucked up, big time. It was supposed to just be a remark on how Alexander hadn't mentioned any parents when he was giving his short abridgment of his life, not an insult that hit below the belt, but it very obviously went over that way. He felt an insatiable need to console his roommate after what he had just said, felling the pit of regret in his stomach. "Sorry, I, Uh..." Jefferson shakily began, unsure how to approach the situation, "I didn't know. I shouldn't have said that."

 

"It's fine," Responded Hamilton's bitter voice, replacing the airy one that he had been conversing with Jefferson in, "Nobody looks at me and thinks _wow, look at that! An orphan! A nasty, disgusting orphan who had a whore mother and no place to live other than George Washington's fucking house,_ right?"

 

Jefferson definitely struck a nerve.

 

"You know, I really guess I don't _look_ like an orphan. That's just something you get the pleasure to hear around campus," Hamilton continued, clearly self-deprecating at this point, " _Along with Alexander Hamilton is poor and cant afford nice clothes, Alexander Hamilton cheated on his girlfriend like an idiot, Alexander Hamilton had an affair and ruined his life,_ and my personal favorite, _Alexander Hamilton sucks Washington's dick to get good grades like the fucking slut that he is,_ " As his rant went on, Thomas cringed at the tears spilling over out of Hamilton's big brown eyes that he had seen full of love and endearment not too long ago, " _He never sleeps, he never shuts his stupid fucking mouth, all he does is sleep with everybody who isn't his girlfriend,"_

 

Thomas, in a desperate attempt to stop Alexander's barrage on himself, held out a hand to Hamilton's face and wiped away a tear with his thumb, "Hey, it's okay." And just like that, as if it was a switch that controlled him, Alexander shut his mouth compliantly and slightly leaned into Jefferson's large, soft hands. "I don't believe any of those things. You're alright here, I promise," Thomas continued and watched intently as Alexander swooned internally over his deep, soothing voice, "You really shouldn't waste time crying. You should use your time to go to sleep. I swear you'll feel better in the mornin', sweetheart."

 

Alexander's heart swelled at the pet name, and promptly calmed down. He swore under his breath as he realized that he just made a fucking fool of himself in front of Thomas Jefferson, somebody that he thought he already hated. He seemed to be such an egotistical asshole with an inflated sense of self-importance, so why was he being nice all of the sudden? Alexander had no time to dwell on that because, despite the 2 cups of coffee he had just drank, his eyelids were feeling awfully heavy. "Sorry, I'll..", Began Hamilton's shaky voice, looking at his feet, "I'll go to sleep and I won't bother you."

 

"Good. But, for the record, you weren't bothering me in the first place,"

 

It was then that Alexander knew he was at the point of no return, and as he longed for Jefferson beside him as he climbed into bed, he knew this definitely wasn't going to end well.


	3. Distress and Disarray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alexander is self-loathing, yells a Thomas, fights with him twice, and then politics (and feelings) ensue.

Alexander could slowly feel himself being pulled from the serenity of unconsciousness as he woke up. He laid in his bed, keeping his eyes close in a desperate attempt to get more sleep. It was in these half-conscious states that Hamilton commonly let his mind wander. How did he get around to going to sleep, anyways? He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, trying to remember when and why he had decided to go to sleep. When Alexander let his eyes flutter open, he was met with a...sight. His roommate, Thomas Jefferson, shirtless and wet. Alexander prayed to god it was because he just took a shower. Not only that, but he was looking at Hamilton? As well as that, as soon as Alexander caught him looking, he just looked away? Was he watching him? Alexander's mind flooded with a million questions when he realized the answer to one - Why he had gone to sleep. It was because he acted like an asshole last night and started crying like an idiot, and Jefferson told him to go to sleep. Wait, Jefferson told him to go to sleep. And he complied. Why did he do what Thomas told him to? Alexander could swear he almost felt dirty taking orders from such a color-blind prick. He obviously cared about Alexander, though. He could've sworn that Jefferson already hated his guts.

Desperate to get away from all the confusion whirling in his mind, Alexander sluggishly got out of his bed and padded to the bathroom to get ready for the day. He checked the time on his phone - 7:02 AM. He had to be at Washington's class in an hour, which was the perfect amount of time for Hamilton to get ready and then get some work done. He splashed some water on his face and looked at himself in the mirror, and he looked horrible. His hair was flying in every direction but towards his head, his eyes were red for some reason, and he looked like he hadn't slept in 27 years. Alexander let out an annoyed groan - he was sick of looking like this every single day of his life. He decided that self-loathing was a waste of time, and sloppily applied toothpaste onto the bright green toothbrush that was now in his hand and started scrubbing his teeth.

He stood in front of the mirror with slumped posture, blurrily looking at himself through half-lidded eyes. Just as he began to ponder about his senior year and who would be in all of his classes, hopefully not Jefferson, the man of the disgraced name in question walked in. Alexander blinked a few times after seeing Jefferson in the mirror, and turned around to look at him.

"What?" Alexander questioned, white soapy foam slurring his speech. He spit the toothpaste into the sink in an attempt to make his voice sound clearer, "What do you want?"

Thomas scoffed with his shit-eating grin beginning to dance upon his face, "Sorry princess," He taunted in a mocking tone, "I came in here to brush my teeth. Is that illegal?"

His voice was gravelly from sleep, yet somehow soothing, and Alexander shoved the thought that he might like it to the back of his mind. He shoved back the way that Thomas' lazy southern drawl made him feel, and he definitely was shoving away that it almost made him smile and begin to find it endearing. Almost being the operative word.

"Whatever." Hamilton mumbled, facing back towards the mirror in front of him, turning on the sink and rinsing the soap out of his mouth. He patted his face dry, and flipped his head upside-down to pull it into a bun. Just as he was finishing off tying it, Thomas had the audacity to insult it.

"A man bun, really?" Jefferson began, "What's next, a romphim?"

"Get off my dick, you piece of living garbage." Alexander spat back while he glared at Jefferson in the mirror, not willing to take Thomas' shit, seeing as he really wasn't feeling the best about himself this morning.

"Dream on," The taller man hummed, "I wouldn't touch your 3-incher with a 10 foot pole."

Alexander whipped around from looking in the mirror and shot Jefferson a deadly look right in his eyes, "Listen buddy. I don't like you, and you don't like me. Leave me the fuck alone, don't touch me, don't touch my stuff, and we'll have no problems this year you cock eating, color blind, tic tac dick, bubblegum lookin' ass douche-canoe."

"I didn't even know that many insults could fit in your little raisin brain," Thomas said with a laugh, visibly suppressing a larger one. Alexander grumbled, and Thomas could swear that the smaller boy below him let out a full blown growl when he hastily pushed past Jefferson.

It was only 7:08 AM and Alexander was already having an awful day, courtesy of his awful, asshole roommate. He shoved on jeans and whatever hoodie was at the top of his pile of clothes, and began to brew his morning coffee. He knew he would feel a lot better after the first sip of the liquid happiness burned his throat. The soothing sound of the brewing coffee calmed him, and he decided to sit on his bed and maybe read a book while he waited. He got down to his knees to look at his myriad of books that he had shoved under his desk last night, considering carefully what he wanted to read. Maybe The Art of War, he thought, though it's a tad stereotypical. He pulled out Sun Tzu's work softly, as if it was the most precious artifact in the universe, and went over to his bed to sit. He flipped open to the last page he had folded, and before he could resume from his last page in the book, he heard the very light pitter-patter of rain hit the window of his room. It was almost soothing until he could swear he heard the faint rumble of thunder in the distance. The sound shook Alexander to his core, silently praying that it doesn't get much worse.

In the hour before their first class, Hamilton and Jefferson milled about their room and went about their own business. Alexander had his morning coffee (to be exact, 3 cups), Thomas talked to James Madison on the phone, and the rain came in erratic phases. There were bunches of several minutes where it would get heavy, and then it would calm down for a while. It was very unnerving to Alexander, not feeling all too fond of heavy storms. It was mid-August, why was it already raining? Whatever the reason, Alexander did his best to dismiss it as he began to back his books into the bag he kept. Just a small knapsack that kept his notebooks, his computer, some reading material and a few fountain pens. He had always preferred to write with fountain pens. He was a senior - he didn't need to have an overbearing amount of things with him at all times. It was the future, most of his school documents were kept on his computer anyways. As Hamilton was finishing picking out the last of his pens to bring with him, he saw Thomas being finicky over his outfit out of the corner of his eye. He snickered, thinking that worrying over what he was going to wear on the first real day of school was just Thomas' style. He did have to admit that in comparison, his roommate definitely made him look uglier by ten fold.

Thomas had sharp features, a very muscular figure, long legs, and one of the most convincing and enticing smiles that Alexander thinks he's ever seen. He threw his bag over his shoulders and approached the full-length mirror of their shared closet. Alexander was, by no means, any Thomas Jefferson. Ratty hair with loose strands already finding their way out of his messy bun, barely maintained facial hair, dull colored eyes and reading glasses. Along with that, just to put the icing on the cake, an old grey hoodie and beat-up jeans. He always told himself that he cared more about being intelligent and witty than attractive, but he'd be lying if he said it didn't sometimes get to him. He looked at Thomas once more in the mirror, and he saw that he was dressed now, and surprisingly so, dressed well. A nice shirt, nice jeans, nice everything - if somebody told him that Thomas' outfit was worth fifteen-hundred dollars, he wouldn't even think that to be improbable. Hamilton, on the other hand, knew that people just think he's a ten dollar slut. And, at this point in his like, Alexander didn't think that to be improbable either. Just as he had concluded earlier in the morning, he knew there was no time for loathing and he had to get to class. He finally made his way out of the room, grabbing his phone, his travel mug and his lanyard that held his keys (and a few key-chains of some obscure references to shows that Laurens had bought him). As he rushed, he saw out of his peripheral vision that Thomas was definitely going the same way as him. Following him, even. As Alexander turned the corner to reach the elevator, that was when he knew something was up. Jefferson had to be following him at this point.

Alexander entered the elevator and so did Jefferson. It was strange; Jefferson had to be following him, but he wasn't even sparing Alexander a glance. Whatever. He reached out to press the button for the ground floor before he realized that Thomas had already beat him to it. He lets out a deep breath and returns his hand to his hoodie pocket. He made a scene of ignoring Jefferson, making sure that his body language screamed "Don't talk or engage with me in any way, asshole". As the elevator lets out an obnoxious beep and the doors open, uncharacteristically unstopped on any other floors on their way. Alexander stepped out before Jefferson, just to solidify his Jefferson is following me speculation. He took the weirdest, most detouring path to his class, and Thomas finally left him alone. Maybe he wasn't following Alexander after all. He let a sigh of relief flutter from his lips, but as he approached his classroom, he saw an all-too familiar bushy-haired person. He felt his blood boiling, and with one glace, Jefferson could tell that Hamilton was absolutely, positively livid.

"Why the ever-loving FUCK are you fucking following me, you cunt?" Alexander yelled out upon sight of his least favorite person, "I can't believe you would find out where MY fucking class is," He ranted as all eyes in the hallway immediately found their way to the discoursing pair, "Find how to FUCKING GET THERE without following me, and have the FUCKING AUDACITY TO SHOW UP HERE!"

Thomas' eyes narrowed as he finally calculated the situation, "No you fucking dunce, this is my class too," He began to explain, a crisp whisper in comparison to Hamilton's tone, "And you're making a scene. Though, a hussy like you probably loves the attention." Jefferson tacked on the insult, secretly hoping that it would drive Hamilton to tears and he would just leave Thomas alone. Unfortunately, it just made the gremlin angrier. He saw Hamilton begin to open his mouth as his face turned red, only to be interrupted by realizing that all eyes were now on somebody else - Professor Washington. Alexander quickly looked at his superior with an expression on his face that contrasted the fear on everybody else's.

"Meet me inside, young man." Washington spat out, anger lacing his tone like poison. Alexander followed his elder into the classroom, head hung low to avoid the sheer blow to his dignity if he put faces to the snickers and gossip he was already hearing. "Listen, Alexander..." Washington began, calmness finally beginning to take over him and his tone, "Go easy on the new kid, alright?"

"Sir, he's nothing but a nuisance. He's an asshole, and he stares at me, and-"

"You'll like him," His Professor cut him off, not wanting to hear another hour like rant akin to the one Thomas just received, "Thomas is very intelligent, kind and stands up for what he believes in. You just have to get to know him. You two are very alike-"

"Sir, I'm stopping you right there. I'm nothing like him," Alexander grimaced.

"Give him a chance or consider you spot in student council and debate team captain gone," George hissed out, now standing and walking over to the door to open it for his other students, "And don't make any more scenes, please. Looks bad for me and for you, son."

"I not your son." Alexander said under his breath as he made his way to his seat, weary of confronting Washington any more.

After students flooded the room into the classroom, introductions began. Washington's senior course that he is famed for failing student's in, Honor's Advanced Government and Politics. Nobody really knew if that was a real class, or some shit that The General himself had made up, but it wasn't like any student or peer of Washington's was going to refute it anyways. It was time for everybody to begin their self introductions, and most were brimming with happiness and excitement contrary to Alexander's current state. He was flustered, angry, and most of all, embarrassed. He tuned out the other people's introductions, knowing almost everybody in the room already.

"Your turn, Alexander." Washington's voice erupted in Alexander's mind, and the pupil stood up.

"My name is Alexander Hamilton," He begins, more anxious than he had intended, "I'm 17 years old, I speak 3 languages," Audible groans were heard when Alexander smirked with that last comment, brimming with contentment, "I also like reading, writing, and kicking ass." He finished quickly with little eloquence, sitting down with a self-satisfied smile on his face. Alexander saw Washington roll his eyes as he called the proceeding names out loud for introduction.

Introductions finally wrapped up, and Alexander knew more about Thomas Jefferson now than he cared to know. He didn't care about Virginia, or swivel chairs, or Monticello, or mac n' cheese. The lecture began, and Hamilton was half-paying attention until a few words caught his interest - a freestyle debate. Two students would be paired up and would have a 10 minute debate on a randomized topic that was chosen from a hat. No preparation, no consideration. Just go with your gut. It was new, but Alexander was nothing less than ecstatic for it. He loved to rip newbies a new one. Washington finished up the explanation and started pairing up people for the debates. Elizabeth Schuyler and Peggy Schuyler, James Madison and Hurcules Mulligan, Thomas Jefferson and-

"You've got to be kidding, sir!" Alexander instinctively exclaimed at the prospect of having to talk with Thomas Jefferson for any length of time, much less a 10 minute debate.

"Alexander, close your mouth," Washington scoffed, cutting Hamilton off before he could get any more reckless, "I know you want the grade. You and Thomas are up first."

Alexander cursed under his breath as he made his way to the front of the classroom where Jefferson already was, along with the other pairs. Thomas looked a little bit too relaxed for his liking, so he was ready to rip him a new one by any means necessary. Everyone in the room grew weary that it would go a little too far, as Alexander has been infamous for taking things. He grew antsy as he waiting for their topic, skin itching with the permission to roast Thomas Jefferson into the shadow realm.

Washington cleared his throat, finally having read the prompt, "Country A goes to a revolutionary war with Country B. Country C helps out Country A in doing so. Only a few years after Country A has declared it's independence, Countries B and C are not going to war. Does Country A help Country C, or do they stay out of it? Remember, the only person you have to convince is me. Winning gets you points, but effort means more. Thomas, you can begin when you're ready."

"I kindly thank you, sir." Thomas responded sweetly, and Hamilton scrunched up his nose at Thomas' brown-nosing on day one. He looked at Alexander with the usual smirk that rested on his face as James Madison watched their debate all too closely for Hamilton's comfort. It almost felt unfair, but it didn't matter when Jefferson began. "You see, though I've heard around that Hamilton doesn't care much for loyalty, it is our position once we've made such a promise to keep it, especially after Country C has helped us in the same situation." Some giggles erupted at Jefferson's note about Hamilton's loyalty, and Alexander could feel his stomach flip. Of course Jefferson would use something like that against him. "Everything that kid does seems to betray any of our concrete ideals as a nation, especially and honest one, at that.  
If Country C was to aid us in our time of need, it is all the more of an unpayable debt that we have to them. They were kind to us, reached out a hand when we were in distress and there's no reason as to why we shouldn't lend ours to them. It's the law of equivalent exchange, and it's honorable practice. Not to speak on Hamilton's reliability, but it seems like the only thing he's reliable with is ladies, and even that is arguable. His best quality is dishonesty and over-reacting, so this is the kind of thing that shouldn't be trusted in his hands. Sorry but not sorry, adultery doesn't exactly scream 'loyalty' to me, much less should that person be the voice of what is to be a loyal nation. To rest my case, it is our position as the land of the free to aid in those who helped us achieve that very title. We have an unpayable debt to Country C, and the least we could do is soften the blow that they are now receiving. Thank you."

Hamilton definitely felt like a quivering baby. One-hundred percent like a child. The fact that Thomas would even use such a thing against him in a classroom debate of all things was sleazy, not to mention the way he called it adultery, the way he put it so that it looked like Hamilton wasn't an honorable man. Everybody makes mistakes, except seemingly Thomas Jefferson, who he already intensely resented from just 5 minutes of him talking. He stood up, ready to begin his case. Alexander looked at Washington, waiting for the go-ahead to start talking. As soon as he received a nod, much like an exploding firework, Alexander was set off.

"First of all, sir, using one's mistakes against them in a political debate says a lot more about the honorability of your words an actions. It's dirty, it's unfair, and it's a biased point of view. Not to mention using something like that to get the public to favor your opinions, though, that style is very befitting of a pompous asshole like yourself."

"Hamilton."

"Sorry." He gritted through clenched teeth, "I will now present my case.  
You did say that we, as Country A, have just recently established ourselves as an independent nation, correct? Whether or not you like it, that makes us vulnerable. If we revolted against a country that was powerful enough to warrant assistance from Country C, it's best for us, as a new nation, to stay out of it. We are already fragile as it is, and we probably have a rather weak army considering the blow to economic stability and power that revolutions have on a nation. Though, yes, we do owe a large large debt to Country C for their assistance, it is not our place to fight in every war on the planet. We have to draw a line somewhere, and frankly, maybe we shouldn't have made an unkeepable promise in the first place. Thank you." Alexander mocked Thomas' ending, waiting for any rebuttal from the person in question across from him.

"Sir," Thomas finally spoke up, the first person to speak since Alexander began his rambling, "Though Hamilton presents a compelling case, I still don't think this is the kind of thing that should be put in his hands."

If Alexander's blood was boiling before, it was surely condensing and evaporating by now, "Is that so?"

"Yes, Hamilton. You aren't loyal or calm in the slightest, and you make rash decisions. Making a decision like this takes careful consideration from an adult, and this is big people talk, it's not for kids like you."

"I just don't think you're fit to handling international affairs, Jefferson, even though you jack off to France and probably clean it up with their flag."

"I take it back," Jefferson says, smiling ear to ear, evident that he just remembered an important part of ammunition and has now loaded it into the gun, "If the shoe fits, you should wear it. You seem to be great with affairs."

Hamilton could feel the tears welling up, but he wasn't ready to give up yet.

"Bend over when I show you where my fucking shoe fits!"

Thomas chuckled from somewhere low in his voice, "Sorry, what was that? I don't speak welfare."

Bang.

The white-hot pain stung Jefferson's face, and he opened the eyes he didn't know he had ever closed. All he say was Hamilton being held back by a couple of kids, fists balled to the point where his finger tips were white. It took him a coupe of seconds, but Thomas finally realized what just happened.

He just got decked in the face by Alexander Hamilton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> watch as i project onto alexander for the umpteenth time this series


	4. Apologies are hard if you aren't sorry.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander seeks advice from John and considers a little more about his situation than he cares to.  
> (The one with platonic Lams.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok please keep in mind that any and all Lams in this fic is platonic!!! It is not romantic by any means!!!!!!!!

Alexander was barely holding back sobs and shrill noises when he wound up at John Laurens' door at 8:47 AM. John heard the knock at his door and became equally exceedingly confused and worried. The only person who knocked with the power of ten-thousand suns was Alexander, his beloved best friend, but he was already supposed to be in class and Alexander would never skip class. This meant one of two things - either someone learned how to perfectly replicate the way Hamilton knocks on his door, or there was serious trouble with Alexander. John assumed the latter and rushed to his door after only thirty short seconds of contemplation, and sure enough, Alexander Hamilton was at his door, and the sight was heart breaking. His best friend's eyes were puffy, his glasses were fogged up, coffee was spilled all over him and his entire body was shaking as sobs wracked his body. John could worry about how all of this happened later, it was more important to comfort Alexander immediately. So that's what he did.

As his closest friend pulled him into a warm embrace, Alexander could feel himself falling apart further. He knew he was getting John's shirt soaked with snot and tears, but he also knew that John cared just about as much as he did about that. Not at all. He felt calmer as John began to stroke his hair, but it didn't stop him from still verging on hysterics.

"I fucking hate him, John!" Alexander yelled out as he was pulled into John's room as to not further disrupt other people who lived on his floor, "I hate him so much!"

John hushed Alexander as he let go of him, wiping the tears off of his face gently with his thumb, "Why don't I make you some tea, and we can watch some Little Mermaid. How's that sound?"

Alexander sniffed, tears still barging their way through his eyes but calming from the hysterics, "Chamomile."

John smiled at his friend softly before making his way into the kitchen, "Go turn the TV to Netflix and chill on the couch. You know where the blankets are, right?" John turned back to see Alexander's answer, to be met with a nod.

* * *

"So what's the deal, kiddo?" John asked to the leech that was currently snuggled under his arm, sipping his tea under a blanket while humming to the tunes of the Disney movie on screen. The leech in question looked up to John with his big brown eyes, "What?"

 

John couldn't hold back the smile that pulled itself onto his face, "You know, why did you come stomping into my room crying?"

 

Alexander looked back at the movie, gripping his mug full of chamomile tea harder ever so slightly. He let out a shaky sigh, genuinely not wanting to relive the tale. He knew somewhere deep down that coming to John's immediately would warrant some explanation, but the wounds still felt so fresh. It wasn't the first thing on his to-do list to pour lemon juice and salt on it, akin to a pain margarita. Though he trusted John with just about everything, he didn't know if he wanted to admit to him that Jefferson got to him that deeply in one conversation. Maybe it was more about not wanting to admit it to himself. The fact that one off-hand comment about Hamilton's wealth set him off far enough to resort to physical violence (that he now has detention for late that evening) was astounding to everyone in the room including Alexander. Maybe it was a mixture of all of the talk of affairs, of how much Alexander had been reminded to day that he was no good. After what seemed like an hour of silence due to Alexander's contemplation of telling John or not, he decided that he best friend at least deserved to know why he came sobbing and yelling at his doorstep.

 

"So, you know that new kid?" Alexander began, voice shaky and unsure in contrast to it's usual confident flare, "Thomas Jefferson?"

 

"Mhmm," Laurens nodded, making sure to keep steady eye contact with Alexander to make him feel assured in the conversation.

 

"Well, we live in the same room," He continues after the other's affirmation, "And it's been hell so far. He keeps making these snide remarks about my books and about me, and the other night we got to talking. He asked me what my life story was or whatever, and I just gave him a little brief synopsis, one could call it. Then his big dumb stupid self said 'What, no parents?'" Hamilton said in a mocking tone, emphasizing the southern accent badly. John snickered at that. "And it just made me really upset and I  _don't know why_. It just made me freak out."

 

"That's what you're upset about?" John said in the most understanding voice he could muster.

 

" _I'm not done yet._ " Alexander all but growled, "So today this morning he was like being more of an asshole to me. Then I get up and I'm crusty and ugly as shit-"

 

"Stoppin' your rant right there, Alex." John interrupts, refusing to put up with that kind of self-hating talk, "You're, like, one of the prettiest people in the world, so stop with that nonsense."

 

Alex huffs and pouts, but decides to continue with his story anyways, "So as I was saying before I was so  _rudely_   interrupted," John laughed again. God, Alexander loved making John laugh. "He pretty much follows me to Washington's class, so I just think he's stalking me, and in my defense, I'm very very tired. I get to class and he's already fucking there, so I freak out again and I yelled at him and shit. Then Washington comes and fucking  _neuters_ me, saying some 'don't do this, don't do that, student government blah blah blah'. I love the man, but fuck, dude, I'm a person too. I make mistakes,"

 

"A lot of them."

 

" _John."_

 

"Sorry."

 

Alexander could tell he was suppressing a laugh.

 

"So then I find out that shitty Jefferson kid is in fucking Washington's class with me. So we go in and he starts pairing us off for debates, and he fucking pairs me off with the fucking douche-canoe. So then Jefferson,  _that is such a stupid fucking name_ , goes on about how I'm not loyal or honorable or whatever and that I'm not fit to handle our country which is total bullshit because he doesn't even care about our country, all he does is go finger his fucking asshole to fucking FRANCE! So then I'm like well first of all fuck you and your stupid name and your stupid face, and second of all, I am _too_ fit to handle the country. More fit than a fucking Francophile! Anyways, enough about how I'm  _totally right_ and I was  _totally winning_ that debate, he says, 'If the shoe fits wear it. You're very good at affairs.' Or some  _dumb shit_ like that, and I was like McScuse me bitch, bend over i'll show you where my shoe fits,"

  
Laurens lost his shit over that one, and Alex couldn't help but let out a tiny chuckle as well. Then, Alexander remembered the part that comes next, and he suddenly felt a nervous weight on his chest. This was the part he didn't want to repeat. After everything people have called him, after all these years, and this one goddamn line got to him and he hated it. The furious spark left his eyes, and his words became less laced with passion and anger and more with dread,

  
"And so then he goes, 'Sorry, I don't speak welfare.'"

 

And Alexander stops for a second, unsure how to put the next part.

 

"So I decked him in the face so fucking hard that I pretty sure his head flew into the Shadow Realm."

 

It was quiet for just moments. Almost too quiet until somebody spoke again, "So that's what you were upset about."

 

"Yeah."

 

"Well...Here's what I think," John started, looking away from Alexander in thought, "I think he likes you a lot."

 

"Okay  _grandma_." Alexander scoffed at the 'He's mean because he likes you!' think he's heard a million times in the stories of other's primary school cliches.

 

"No, listen," Responded John definitively, beginning a genuine proposition of thought, "He's only known you for less than 24 hours, so for him to even know any of that mumbo jumbo he said must mean that he liked you enough to listen to you last night when you were talking about your life, right?"

 

Alexander couldn't lie that he felt his face heat up slightly at the prospect of Jefferson caring about him at all, "I mean, I guess..."

 

"So that means that he must like you a lot."

 

"No, no he doesn't, because I like you a lot Laurens, and he never shows affection to me like snuggling with tea while watching The Little Mermaid."

 

"Alexander anybody that has ever listened to you to any length of time really likes you a lot because nobody else would put up with your shit otherwise,"

 

"Good point."

* * *

 

 It was, for the millionth time today, far too quiet. It was eerie. Alexander looked over to his roommate, who was currently whispering to James Madison, who he was sitting next to. Hamilton could tell they were talking about him because every time Jefferson would pause, Madison would look over and glare at him and it send chills down his spine. Alexander was just trying to do his homework while sipping on his middle-of-the-night caffeine fix. He's genuinely surprised that Jefferson hasn't said anything about the way he looks right now - knees brought to his chest, clad in pink pajama pants and some shirt he stole from John that probably had some obscure video-game reference on it. His hair was out of it's bounds and just strewn about everywhere, and he was wrapped in the only blanket he had brought to school with him, a fluffy black one that barely just covered Alexander's tiny body when he slept. Coffee in his left, pen and paper in his right, Hamilton expected some comment about how his hands were too full to hit Jefferson again, but nothing. Just nothing. He didn't expect it to bother him just as much as it did, but it made him feel awful. Not that he already didn't feel kind of bad for hitting Jefferson in the first place, but with Madison's unnerving glances and the fact that Thomas wont even look at him, it made it very hard to apologize, especially considering that there was no way in hell his apology would be accepted.

 

It was when he saw Madison out of the corner of his eye beginning to get up (and Jefferson seemingly begging him to stay), that Alexander began to consider how he would apologize. Once James was gone, it really shouldn't be all that hard. The real biggest obstacle admittedly wasn't about the mother-hen nature that Madison bears, but it was more about Hamilton's own pride. Burr wasn't wrong when he had once told Alexander off, telling him that his  _pride would be the death of us all_. The sound of the door shutting and then locking sounded, and Jefferson made a scene of absolutely ignoring Hamiton. It pissed him off to no end - Alexander  _hated_  being ignored more than anything, but everybody knew that by his constant vein attempts to get attention.

 

"Hey," Alexander began cautiously, voice strangely hoarse, probably from crying, "I just...I want to let you know that I'm,"

 

"Shut up, Hamilton." Jefferson all but growled, not even looking in Alexander's direction.

 

Alexander was determined to push through, however, "I'm sorry."

 

Though he couldn't see his face, Alexander could swear that Jefferson was smiling when he said, "What, did daddy Washington tell you to say that to me?"

 

"I'm apologizing out of my own volition," He desperately explained, "I really didn't mean for it to go that far and I just-"

 

"I said _shut up,_ Hamilton."

 

Alexander got the hint, and he could swear that he even felt shallow tears prick at the corners of his eyes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter and there will most likely be a much better (and longer) one tomorrow or monday
> 
> but look forward to more angst that i swear will end up as fluff eventually


	5. Stupid Thomas Jefferson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I would unplug Hamilton's life support to plug in my phone charger, but I digress."

All Alexander could bring himself to do that night was stare at the ceiling. He knew he should be sleeping, but the realization that he finished all of the work he needed to do hit him like a truck, and he decided he would maybe try to sleep for a little. But he couldn't. All he could do was have his eyes wide open in the darkness. Had he been anywhere else, he would've gotten up an gone for a walk, maybe he would've gone to the twenty-four hour bookstore by his old foster home. But he was at his stupid boarding school, with stupid rules about going off-campus and a stupid curfew. Alexander's mind just wouldn't slow down long enough for him to give in to his physical exhaustion. Jefferson was making a huge deal over what had happened, and not that Hamilton found anything wrong with that, he truly believed that Jefferson was rightfully angry, but he wished that Jefferson forgave him. It was rare for Alexander Hamilton to give a sincere apology to anybody, but of course Thomas didn't know that enough to know that his apology was probably good-spirited. Alexander truly didn't want to have a horrible relationship with his roommate, but in his defense, he can't help it if Jefferson is infuriating.

 

He turned to look at Jefferson, only to see that he was no better off on the sleep front. He had earplugs in (probably listen to what Alexander thinks is shitty music) and was scrolling through something on his phone, presumably social media. Actions to keep him occupied because by the looks of it, he couldn't sleep either. Thomas looked to his side, feeling someone's eyes on him, only to met with Alexander's gaze. 

 

"Hey," Alexander said in the most soft and gentle voice that Thomas has ever heard him use.

 

"We aren't friends, Hamilton. Stop talking to me like we are."

 

Alexander winced at how he could tell that Jefferson was still really upset by the tone with which he spoke. Never one to quit, Alexander persevered in the conversation despite Jefferson's attempts to stop it.

 

"How can I convince you that I'm sorry?" He knew he almost sounded like he was begging at this point, but he didn't care. He was, and he needed his point to get through to Thomas. Then again, why did he want to get through to Thomas so bad? He already hated him, so it was a lost cause. Clearly they were probably never going to be friends, even after this issue was resolved, because they're too different. They both have the issue of only seeing someone's morals and politics.

  
"Do what I say and leave me alone. Shut up, don't talk to me, and don't pretend like we're friends or that you care about me. Just shut your big mouth, Hamilton."

 

Another sleepless night.

* * *

 

It was 11:34 AM when Hamilton woke up. He finally had dosed off around 5 AM or so, and his alarm didn't seem to wake him up, though it always did. Maybe his body was catching up with him. He just laid in bed with his eyes closed, relishing in the feeling of serenity that waking up under his fluffy blanket brought him. Alexander's eyes fluttered open as he less-than-gracefully rolled over to check the time.  _11:34 AM. 11:34 AM? 11:34 AM!_ Alexander shot out of bed and rubbed his eyes quickly, making sure he read the time right. Yep. 11:34 fucking AM. He ran into the bathroom, still dizzy from sleep, and brushed his teeth quicker than anybody thought was humanly possible. He was pretty sure he was setting at least fifteen world records right now. He decided against brushing his hair and just leaving the clothes he went to sleep in on (but threw on sweatpants that at least looked better than his tacky pink pajama pants). He grabbed an espresso shot that he kept in the mini-fridge of his room, and rushed out with his keys and phone, not finding time to do much else. 

 

Elizabeth Schuyler didn't know what to expect when she was peacefully walking to her next class. It was her senior year, and she was determined to make it count! She was going to finish the year strong with a GPA that will make her father swoon, and hopefully get into a college where she could study something she enjoyed like horticulture. She was making mindless conversation with her sister, Angelica, to her right, when something-or rather, someone-ran into her fast enough to knock both of them down. Eliza looked down, the situation happening too fast for her to register, when she sees Alexander Hamilton on the ground in front of her. She didn't know what to expect when she was peacefully walking to her next class, but it definitely wasn't her shitty ex-boyfriend.

 

"Alexander," She acknowledged, trying to seem as cold as possible to him. She would be lying to herself if she said that what he did didn't still affect her often; whenever she would think about him, him and his stupid writings and his stupid Observation On Certain Documents and his  _stupid Reynolds Post,_ it made the wound feel new. He humiliated her. Both Eliza and Maria. He had no regard for anybody but himself, and it was truly sickening. 

 

"'Liza! Shit, I'm so, so sorry I'm in such a hurry and I-"

 

" _Shut up,_   _Hamilto_ _n._ " Erupted Angelica's vicious tone, and just like that, Alexander was back on his feet and running to his class.

 

Jefferson didn't know what he expected when he was peacefully chilling out in his Number Theory class when Hamilton himself busted into said class, profusely apologizing to their professor that he was so late. Thomas scoffed; he knew that Hamilton wasn't going to wake up this morning, but he really didn't want to wake him, Alexander needed the sleep. As he saw said person scrambling to get anything together and apologize before stumbling to an open seat in the back corner, Thomas almost considered apologizing for not waking Alexander, but after yesterday's events it was unlikely. He could tell that Hamilton felt at least a little bad for yesterday, but he didn't believe any of his apologies, not for a second. On Alexander's end, his day was already falling apart, and he had only woken up half an hour ago. His situation with Jefferson definitely wasn't helping, and he just wanted to resolve at least that constant tension in his life right now. Actually, what was the primary tension in his life was his feelings about Jefferson. He hated him, he hated him so  _so_ much. Everything about Jefferson made his skin crawl with unadulterated loathing. Yet, even amidst that, there was something that he found...Good about Thomas. Like, how he was genuinely caring on the first day they met. Well, now that Alexander came to think of it, that was really the only time Jefferson has  _ever_ been anything less than outstandingly rude to him. He laughed at himself quietly - how could he ever feel even okay about Jefferson? He just needed to get it out of his system. Yeah, that was it. A couple more fights and he would be good. Then he could focus on his stupid school, which he can't do right now because of  _stupid Jefferson._

* * *

 

John, Laf and Herc knew they would be simply sick of it soon. Completely, absolutely, incredibly sick of it. It was going to turn into quite the vicious cycle, they all knowingly agreed. Jefferson and Hamilton would get mad at each other, one would do something really mean to the other, they would try to apologize, and then they would ignore each other for a day or until they deemed that the other was wrong enough about something that it warranted conversation. Then, when Jefferson would go off the rails, Hamilton would come to someone's doorstep (usually John's) fuming, or crying, or all of the above. When Hamilton would fly off the handle, James Madison would come into their dorm and gossip straight to his face while he's in the room. They lived together, but Alexander and Thomas had never felt more distant. Alexander desperately needed the attention and affirmation, and Thomas just needed to co-exist peacefully. Through all of the hatred and despair, Hamilton couldn't lie to himself...There was something incredibly endearing about Jefferson. Maybe it was his smile, or his hair, or his voice, or his body, god his body...Maybe there were a lot of things that were incredible endearing about Jefferson. The fact that he hated Hamilton was not one of them.

 

You see, when Thomas first saw the name "Alexander Hamilton", he could swear that he knew what love at first sight was. _Now I would unplug Hamilton's life support to charge my phone, but I digress._ Only a fraction of him wished that he had fallen in love with Hamilton, but the majority of realizes that being in love with Alexander Hamilton is probably the worst thing in the world that could ever happen to somebody. He puts on such a cool, intelligent exterior, flirty and confident, but inside Thomas could tell that Hamilton was more desperate for reassurance than anybody. He would take anything that most people would give him. Thomas almost felt the need to change that, to let Hamilton know that he's worth a lot more than he gives himself credit for, but Thomas isn't sure if even he believes that. After the endless hell that the tiny gremlin prick has put him through, why should he? He gets Thomas in trouble with professors, occasionally gets him detention, and just overall infuriates him with his late-night working and his shit-tasting coffee.

 

Though, Jefferson didn't quite know when his opinion changed. When Hamilton went from the worst person who's ever existed, to kind of alright. He wished he did, so he could pinpoint exactly where he stopped hating Hamilton and he could undo it. He nearly internally begged to hate Hamilton again. Maybe that's why he thought it would be easier for Hamilton to hate him.

 

"Shut the fuck up, Hamilton. Nobody wants to hear your fucking sob story."

 

Another fight.

 

"You know what, Jefferson? I don't want to hear anything coming out of your stupid fucking aristocratic rich-boy mouth, alright?"

 

He'd be lying if he said that one hadn't stung.

 

"God, I wish you died in that stupid fucking hurricane, too."

 

He'd be lying if he said that one wasn't supposed to sting as hard as it did.

 

"At least we're on the same page finally."

 

A slammed door.

 

God, what was Jefferson thinking? He wanted to hate Hamilton more than anything, but constantly twisting the knife in one of the many wounds Hamilton already had wasn't doing anything other than putting further damage into whatever their relationship was. Not friends, not even enemies. Because sometimes they could tolerate each other. But not at times like this. Not at times when they're both having a bad day, and Alexander spills coffee all over Thomas' white shirt, and he starts shaking like a leaf in November, and Jefferson immediately puts forth the I hate Hamilton front. And now Jefferson was chasing after his roommate who just left their room in a frantic attempt of ending their argument from any further damage. Jefferson was chasing after Hamilton? Not likely. Now, likely.

 

Thomas swung the door open, and looked to his right and left frantically to see which end of the hall Hamilton had run down. As he looked to his left, he was met with a sight, to say the least. There Hamilton was, standing at their neighbor's door with his arm crossed and salty tears running down his cheeks. Thomas felt a vicious pang of guilt strike through him like lightning, and he felt the immediate need to help and coddle Alexander, tell him everything would be alright and maybe give him some chocolate. He tried to remove that thought from his brain, maybe surgically, but it just wouldn't leave. The more he watched Alexander gasp in shallow breaths between his quieted cries was too painful to bear. He had done this to Alexander. He said the shitty things, he knew that it was too much. He knew it. But his self-image of hating Hamilton kept all of that out of his mind when he said what he did. He knew it was a mistake.

 

"Alexander," Thomas softly called out, just loud enough for Hamilton to hear, and just barely stifling his own tears.

 

"Don't call me that." Anger and fright laced Hamilton's shaky tone as he glared daggers into Jefferson's heart.

 

Jefferson wanted to make a rebuttal. He wanted to get on Alexander for talking to him that way, but Hamilton looked like a terrified child. Jefferson only took one year of Psychology 101 as an elective, but he knew that Hamilton was exhibiting Fight or Flight behavior. It was clear that Hamilton usually chose fight, but it seemed that with Jefferson in a private situation, he always chose flight. With Hamilton's protective body language and shaky movements, Jefferson just now put the pieces together that Alexander was probably afraid of him.

 

Thomas knew he might regret what he was about to do.

 

He stepped out of their dorm room, and walked over to Hamilton quickly. Alexander winced and closed his eyes tightly, as if he was bearing himself for some sort of physical pain, but there was none. Just a warm, warm hug. One that Alexander has wanted for a really long time. Alexander didn't care that he was sobbing harder now, or that he was falling apart, or that he was probably screaming. He really couldn't care less. Letting it out sure did feel good, but it would definitely feel much better if he knew that Jefferson wouldn't use it against him later. Even then, he could feel himself gripping the fabric of Jefferson's now coffee-stained white shirt, making it wetter with his tears. He could hear his own struggled attempts as breathing clearly, and trying to form coherent sentences. Alexander wanted to scream at him, he wanted to hit him, he didn't want to be faced with his feelings about Jefferson. He hated Jefferson, didn't he? If he hated Jefferson so bad, why was he letting him bring them back into their dorm to calm down? It was stupid, it was all fucking stupid. Feelings are messy, and Jefferson isn't even trying to help clean it up.

 

So now, Alexander would like to take back what he said to John. The whole  _well I like you a lot John, but Jefferson doesn't make me tea and watch The Little Mermaid with me._ Because as soon as Hamilton calmed down enough to speak clearly, he had some tea in his hands, and by the smell of it, it was chamomile. It immediately discredited half of his statements he said to John. All he had left to do was just consider what had lead him to this point, sitting in Thomas Jefferson's stupid lap with a stupid blanket wrapped around him and a stupid of stupid chamomile tea. Alexander had an ass morning, and he was just in shambles all week. Of course he was going to be vulnerable to any affection, even if it's from stupid Thomas Jefferson. That's what he told himself anyways. Even though deep down he didn't really have any justifiable reason to let Jefferson coddle him right now, he was still going to let it happen. He was still going to let Jefferson rub his back and play with his hair and tell him that he's sorry and he was going to let himself just fall in love with Thomas Jefferson. He didn't have any reasons either, because he hated Thomas Jefferson. 

 

At least, that's what he told himself anyways.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thomas is trying to fix this and failing miserably


	6. not a chapter lol

I think I might discontinue this?? It's been forever since I updated and it doesn't really seem like many people really care about it too much but I have other story ideas as well so I wouldn't stop writing Jamilton this just seemed incredibly unsuccessful lol

**Author's Note:**

> AA!! New multi-chaptered fic. Hopefully this isn't too long and it goes well. I hope people like the premise!! I've been wanting to write a boarding school thing for a while and I love Jamilton enough to do so. Its going to probably be a lot of Alexander's angst so strap in  
> Also fun fact I went to a boarding school for like 3 semesters. I stopped going bc that shit is super fuckin expensive lol but im gonna just establish some random things about (my) boarding school  
> -ITS NOT LIKE ZOEY 101 KIDS  
> -you aren't allowed in the opposite sex's dorm after dinner  
> -everyone goes to homeroom after they drop off their stuff and the front brings your stuff to your room  
> -your homeroom gives you a paper with ur schedule and your room number  
> -there's only one dorm that has singular people dorm rooms in it (they're used for people with anxiety or people who are bad at socializing or really aggressive people with behavioral issues)  
> -there are vending machines in the dorm lobby  
> -the dorm lobby has a tv in it but it automatically shuts off at 8, freshman and sophomore curfew was 9 on weekdays  
> -junior and senior curfew was 10 on weekdays  
> -weekends have a 12 curfew


End file.
